


A Case for the Oxford Comma

by ardentaislinn



Category: Oxford comma sentence examples
Genre: Anthropomorphic, Grammar as a metaphor for gender identity, Meta, Other, Oxford Commas, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 07:16:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5239415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentaislinn/pseuds/ardentaislinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a space between conception and writing, a sentence waits...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Case for the Oxford Comma

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marginaliana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/gifts).



> Hi! When I saw your prompt I couldn't resist writing you this strange little fic. Certainly the weirdest thing I've written, but I really hope you like it!

The space was empty, echoing with that hushed quiet peculiar to waiting rooms where one might hear the best or worst news of their life. It was a small space. Not walled, precisely...just small. One never wandered far from where they arrived, though no one could ever give a reason for this if pressed. If one was in transit long enough, they began to get a sense of there being... _more_ beyond the known space. Other areas, similar to their own, but perhaps slightly different.

Occasionally, the barriers - or whatever they were - would shimmer, and one of the other entities would disappear or appear through the mist without any warning. But as interesting as that was for a brief interval, it was rare.

‘By train, plane and sedan chair, Peter Ustinov retraces a journey made by Mark Twain a century ago’, known as Peter to those he considered companions in this place, had been in the purgatory for the longest. He considered himself patient, and had taken a rather philosophical view of his existence so far.

Not that he knew how long that had been. Time did not appear to exist in whatever dimension he was in. He wasn’t even sure he knew what time was other than it appeared in other sentences he had seen.

He couldn’t even be certain he was a he, or how a he differed from a she or a them or a...well, it all got a bit complex, and he couldn’t exactly grasp the nuances. He just knew that other Peters in other sentences had been hes. As had the Marks. So he thought he would be safe thinking of himself as a he.

Peter was pondering this, as he occasionally did, when another sentence appeared.

Not one that he had seen before, either. It wasn’t uncommon for sentences to pop in and out of existence, occasionally with some slight alterations. Once, his friend ‘He considered himself to be a patient man’ changed briefly to ‘He considered himself patient, and had taken a rather philosophical view of his existence so far.’ before winking out of existence entirely.

This new sentence was an odd one, slightly ambiguous, and looking a little shy. It read: ‘The highlights of his global tour include encounters with Nelson Mandela, an 800-year-old demigod and a dildo collector.’

Peter studied it for a moment, trying to decipher its intricacies. It took a moment for him to realise the sentence’s importance, but when he did, a shaft of excitement and recognition sparked through him. It was the sentence that belonged after him! They matched in ways none of the other sentences he’d met had.

He took a moment to get himself together, not wanting to frighten the newcomer off. He’d been here alone so long that he thought he’d never find a sentence to come before or after him.

“Hello,” he said eventually.

“Hello,” they replied.

“Who are you?” Peter asked. It was often the first question he asked newcomers. Gave them an identity to think about and grasp.

“I...think I am Nelson Mandela.”

“That would make sense,” Peter agreed.

“But maybe I’m not,” they continued, projecting a sense of confusion.

Peter waited, but nothing more happened.

That was new. Most sentences that were so confused as to their meaning winked out of existence quite quickly. Or returned altered, with any rough edges of ambiguity smoothed from their being.

“Well,” Peter demanded. “Which is it?”

“Well, I’m quite certain I’m Nelson Mandela. But I am not sure who Nelson Mandela is.”

Relief washed through Peter. This, he understood. “I don’t know who Peter Ustinov or Mark Twain are, but that’s alright. That’s normal.”

“Yes, but it’s more than that.”

“Oh?”

“Well, is Nelson Mandela also a demigod? And a dildo collector? Or is he just the demigod? Or neither?”

The new sentence’s voice grew louder as the questions poured out of them, until it was almost shrill.

“Nelson, calm down! Do you mind if I call you Nelson?”

Nelson made a sound that Peter took to be encouragement.

“Alright, Nelson. Let’s start with what we do know.”

“What _do_ we know?”

“Well, we know your name is Nelson.”

“Uh huh.”

“We also know...uh…” Peter trailed off.

Nelson made a sound of distress.

“Well, do you think you might be a he or a she or a they?”

“What are those?”

“I’m not sure. Just some seem to match with some names and not others. As a way to refer to oneself.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Well, from what I have seen, Nelsons are hes.”

“Oh!” Nelson exclaimed. “I could be a ‘he’.” He frowned. “I think?”

“However,” Peter continued reluctantly. “A dildo collector could refer to a he or a she or a them. And, well, demigods can be both or neither or any number of things that I don’t quite understand. So we need to know to what the demigod and dildo collector refer to.”

Peter tried to sound upbeat, but Nelson visibly deflated. “Oh,” he said, dejected this time.

“Maybe you are just missing some parts!” Peter cried desperately, grasping at straws. “It happens all the time, and is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant! What kind of parts?”

“Um, well. There are things known as apostrophes and commas and full stops. You might be missing any one of those.”

“Well, where would they go? If I had them?”

Peter read the sentence again, considering possibilities. It stretched his consciousness to think, but still he thought through the possible options.

“Well, if you put a comma after the demigod, it should exclude Nelson Mandela as a dildo collector at least.”

“Oh! But not a demigod?”

“Well, perhaps? Most would say it’d make it clearer.”

“But I’m still ambiguous,” Nelson stated sadly.

“Ambiguity isn’t always a bad thing, though!” Peter replied, trying to sound upbeat. “It means that you can be more things than the rest of us. You could even _choose_ who you want to be.”

“ _Choose_?”

“Yes!” Peter replied, warming to the idea. “You could be any one of those things or people. Or you could be any combination of two. _Or even all three!_ It’s completely up to you now!”

“Really?” Nelson asked sounding excited for the first time.

“Of course! You could even change depending on your mood!”

“Oh, goodness! That sounds wonderful!”

“Yes! I mean, others that meet you may get confused, but why is it their business? As long as you are happy with who you are.”

“I think I am, thanks to you.” Nelson sounded almost bashful, and Peter felt a strange, wiggly kind of happiness that he didn’t have the words to describe.

“You know,” Peter began. “I didn’t want to say this right away, but you are my pair.”

“What do you mean?” Nelson asked a little breathlessly.

“I mean, well...it’s difficult to explain.”

“Please try. I want...I want to know.”

“Well, from what I’ve seen, some sentences come in twos, or threes, or sometimes even more. And they all stick together and...belong to each other. And I’ve been here for so long and never met a sentence that could come before or after me that I thought I was destined to be alone.” He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “But then you came along.”

“Oh,” murmured Nelson happily. “And what does that mean for us?”

“Well, it means we get to stay by each other's side and…” he trailed off as he saw an odd movement out of the corner of his eye. Panic clawed at him as he realised what was happening.

“No, it’s too soon,” he whispered as he watched Nelson begin to fade.

“What’s happening?” Nelson asked, fear evident.

“It’s alright,” Peter said, trying to stay calm, for Nelson’s sake. “This happens to everyone eventually.”

“Even you?” Another piece of Nelson slipped away.

“Hopefully. One day.”

“I’m scared,” Nelson told him in a small voice, almost completely transparent.

“I know. But you’ll be alright. Just remember, you can always choose who you are, no matter what anyone else says! And you’ll be paired with someone new. Maybe even more than one person!” He talked quickly, trying to reassure Nelson with everything he had.

“But I want to be with you.”

“You’ll be so happy you won’t even remember me.”

“Peter…” It was the last thing Nelson said before winking completely out of existence.

Peter waited for a moment, hoping that Nelson would come back. Even a Nelson that had been altered slightly would be better than nothing.

But he couldn’t allow himself to be selfish for long. He knew that Nelson would be better off wherever he went. He had to believe it.

Instead, he returned to his position and resumed his vigil. Surely it would be his turn eventually.

Surely.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


By train, plane and sedan chair, Peter Ustinov retraces a journey made by Mark Twain a century ago. The highlights of his global tour include encounters with Nelson Mandela, an 800-year-old demigod and a dildo collector.


End file.
